


Blood of My Blood (That Was Shed On the Throne)

by SecretEnigma



Series: Final Fantasy XV Time Travel AUs [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Because of Reasons, Don't copy to another site, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I REGRET NOTHING, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It does not actually happen, Lullabies, Noctis Could Slug Them, On What Counts As 'Helping', Protective Cor Leonis, Protective Noctis Lucis Caelum, The Astrals Have Weird Ideas, Time Travel Fix-It, Why Did I Write This?, people jumping to conclusions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25935922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretEnigma/pseuds/SecretEnigma
Summary: When Noctis is 30 years old, he dies to save the world.When Noctis is 14 years old, he wakes up with a blade of silver by his bed and one chance to change everything.3 years later, Cor Leonis still searches for the missing, and presumed kidnapped, Crown Prince. When he finally, finally finds his best friend's son ... he discovers Noctis is not alone.Noctis didn't expect things to turn out this way, not in the slightest, but at least he succeeded in one thing. He changed everything.Now he just needs to learn how to cope with the fallout.
Relationships: Clarus Amicitia & Cor Leonis & Regis Lucis Caelum, Cor Leonis & Cid Sophiar, Cor Leonis & Noctis Lucis Caelum, Gladiolus Amicitia & Noctis Lucis Caelum, Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia, Noctis Lucis Caelum & Original Character(s), Noctis Lucis Caelum & Regis Lucis Caelum
Series: Final Fantasy XV Time Travel AUs [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835323
Comments: 53
Kudos: 515





	Blood of My Blood (That Was Shed On the Throne)

**Author's Note:**

> New one-shot series! Sorta? I've had this idea since literally the first time I played FFXV (the Vanilla FFXV because I was a fool who didn't understand what Patches were), I just ... never actually got around to writing it till now? Cause Reasons. But now I have, and I already have a continuation one-shot written and at least two more in the planning stages so I figured I might as well post my latest insanity.
> 
> Also anyone who can guess what the original version of the lullaby in this fic is get's a virtual cookie. I'll post a link to it in the end notes just in case anyone is curious.

_“Where … where did he go?”_

__ **_“He has been purified, purged from Our Star.”_ **

_“…Destroyed? I … I_ **_destroyed_ ** _him?”_

__ **_“This displeases you?”_ **

_“Yes this ‘displeases’ me!”_

__ **_“The Accursed has been purified, the Prophecy fulfilled, how does this outcome displease you, O Chosen?”_ **

_“Because … because I promised. I promised to restore him. To bring him out of the darkness and into the light he once loved. I didn’t … I wanted to purify him, not_ **_erase_ ** _him.”_

__ **_“He was the Accursed, blight and plague upon Our Star.”_ **

_“He was a healer! A lover and a_ **_brother_ ** _! He gave everything for his kingdom and because of one mistake, he spent two thousand years forgotten and_ **_hated_ ** _.”_

__ **_“He chose to defy the Prophecy. To devour the world in night. To strike down the Beloved Oracle.”_ ** __

_“I never said he was right. I never said he didn’t make mistakes or hurt people. I never said he wasn’t dangerous and had to be stopped. But that isn’t the same as_ **_erasing_ ** _him. He wasn’t a monster.”_

__ **_“Then what, O Chosen, was he, that he did not deserve such fate?”_ **

_“He was … human.”_

__ **_“And this is notable?”_ **

_“Yes. He was_ **_human_ ** _. Flawed and hurting and sick and poisoned. He was one man who tried to shoulder the world and he broke beneath it. He did terrible things, allowed terrible things, but he also did amazing things. Kind things. What he_ **_became_ ** _was not what he always_ **_was_ ** _. He was human, even under it all. And for his crimes … yes, he probably more than earned a death sentence. But to be erased? No … no peace, no afterlife, just … nothing? He didn’tdeserve that. He didn’t deserve to be destroyed.”_

__ **_“Then what, O Chosen, do you deem his proper fate?”_ **

_“A chance at peace. A chance at … hope. At being with his loved ones again, at standing in the sunshine and being unafraid of burning, of playing in the water, of stargazing and seeing the beauty above his head rather than the monsters in the shadows. Even if it was only for one day. He deserved to feel human again. To be … himself. Not the Accursed. Not the Sage who fell. Just him.”_

__ **_“…You pity him. You see yourself in him.”_ **

_“Born destined to shoulder the world and die for it or die trying. With magic no one else can understand but a blood family member that is at my throat. Left to find my own way with only vague prophecy and pointers in the right direction. Killed with a sword through the heart. Yeah, sure. Absolutely no similarities there. No possible reason to empathize or see myself in his story, no sir.”_

__ **_“Keh.”_ **

_“…Was that a laugh? Did you just-. Did you just_ **_laugh_ ** _at my plebeian human sarcasm?”_

__ **_“The Chosen believes the Accursed to be worthy of redemption, and in the Accursed the Chosen sees a mirror of family and kinship. Is this so?”_ **

_“Don’t ignore the question. But … yeah. I guess I do.”_

__ **_“Very well, O Chosen.”_ **

_“…Very well what. Oi. Oi put that sword down. I’m already dead don’t you_ **_dare_ ** _point that sword at me what are you_ **_doing-_ ** _!”_

__ **_“The Chosen has fulfilled the Prophecy, and you stand within the crossroads of time and space, with the full might of the Line of Lucii still within your veins. I grant you this Blessing once, and only once, Chosen. Strike the Accursed with this blade on the first anniversary of this night, beneath the gaze of the full moon and before the rising of the sun, and you will have your desired chance. Fail, and the Prophecy must be renewed and fulfilled a second time.”_ **

_“Wait, hang on, what does that even mean?”_

_Steel, cold and sharp and burning through the chest. A cry of surprise and anger as he flinched and fell-._

Sat up, gasping for air in young, undamaged lungs. Looked around wildly, magic groping desperately for bonds that were not yet there while his hands scrabbled at a chest that was whole and unscarred. He stilled, stared in stunned silence at the dark shapes of a familiar room. A room he hadn’t seen since before high school. He was … alive. He was back. He was-.

A soft breeze in an enclosed room, the taste of snowfall and winter on his lips as the wind whispered around the cold steel sitting on the side of his bed, waiting and ready, **_“Make haste, Beloved Chosen, this Blessing has cost us much, and there will be no second chance.”_**

A shaking breath, a whispered thanks. Then he was gone, out of his room —but not his room, not for years— and over the side of the balcony attached to the suite without any of the Crownsguard keeping watch over the Citadel ever noticing him.

The next morning, sixteen year old Ignis Scientia would impatiently enter his friend’s rooms to awaken the Crown Prince and inform him it was **noon** already, only to find lifeless silence and an open balcony door letting the wind whisper curiously through the carpet. There was no sign of a struggle.

There was no Crown Prince.

* * *

**Three Years Later:**

Cor slammed the car door shut with more force than strictly necessary and stormed inside, more eager to be out of the rain than to actually enter the building. It was another stop on his way back to Insomnia, another check-in with an informant who would no doubt duck their head in shame as they reported no new leads on the whereabouts of the Crown Prince.

Astrals, he was so tired of this. Of having no leads, no proof of life. He was so tired of having to come back and watch Regis break a little more when Cor had no news of his friend’s son. He was so tired of watching Regis’s shoulders sag just a little more, of having to stand back and watch the nobles push more and more for Regis to try taking another wife and having an heir before he was genuinely too old to have one even with medical help.

He was so, so tired of **failing** his missing godson.

He just wanted to be able to bring back **something**. Either his godson to hold tight and welcome home or a casket to put to rest. Just- anything was better than the silence, the lack of news, the lack of any clues or hints as to what had happened that night the prince disappeared into thin air. Even the news of the war turning in their favor since the particularly brutal murder of their head scientist two years ago —and the entire fiasco **that** had sparked in other areas of Cor’s life— sat sour in his gut whenever he heard it. How could he look forward to any victory or future when his godson, when his best friend’s **child** , was missing? Was probably three years dead in a ditch somewhere?

The crying, very quiet but high and **young** was so atypical of his surroundings —a Hunter outpost, not even a tiny burg town but rather a shabby caravan and gas station and Kenny Crow restaurant squatting on a lonely stretch of pavement— that Cor jolted out of his thoughts and looked around. There was someone in the far corner of the store, in the tiny, maybe five item wide baby section only kept for the occasional lost family or refugee group that came through. The figure’s shoulders were hunched, ragged black hair pulled back in a low ponytail, elbows moving in the gentle bouncing motion he recognized from watching Clarus and Regis over the years —had done himself more than once, for all he never felt confident doing it—. He spotted the little head of hair resting on one shoulder and blinked. Oh. A child. The man was whispering to the child, but the crying and whimpering continued and Cor sighed internally from both sympathy and annoyance. Another refugee with a child no doubt. The kid was probably hungry and stressed.

He started to turn away now that the sound was identified, then froze, hairs on the back of his neck prickling as the man began to sing.

“Fate has been cruel and order unkind,”

“How can I have sent you away?”

“The blame was my own, the punishment yours,”

“The Crystal is silent today…”

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be that song. That horrible, horrible song that was the saddest thing Cor had ever heard yet Regis had insisted was the beloved lullaby all Lucis Caelums sang to their children since the time of the Mystic. No one knew that song but the royals and their Retinues, their most trusted. **No one**.

Some random, young, black haired refugee couldn’t be singing it…

Black haired?

Young?

Cor turned around.

“But into the stillness, I’ll bring you a song,”

“And I will your company keep.”

“Till your tired eyes, and my lullabies,”

“Have carried you softly to sleep…”

Cor came to a stop behind the man —teen, this close it was clear this person was a teenager—, who was gently rocking his sniffling toddler and singing while juggling some food and other items. He was just reaching for the cheap stuffed coeurl toy on the shelf when Cor, unable to make himself reach out and turn the teen around, opened his mouth and more whispered than sang.

“Once did a king who was blessed with two sons,”

“Look out on his kingdom and sigh.”

The teen went rigid, his mouth snapping shut on the words Cor had just spoken as he whirled-.

Cor stared into wide blue eyes the shade of the armiger, took in pale skin and cheekbones that were sharper, more underweight versions of Regis’s and a jawline that Cor hadn’t seen clean-shaven since Regis decided beards were dignified. They stared at each other, heedless of the groceries that clattered loudly to the floor at their feet. Cor breathed through shards of glass, reached out to touch that face with a shaking hand, just to prove it was real, “Noctis?”

The teen bit his lip to keep his expression from crumbling and his breath was shaky, “ **Cor**.”

Cor jerked his hand away like he’d been burned, relief tangling up with the sudden rush of **anger** that came from being terrified without relief for too long, “Where have you **been**?” He snarled low to keep anyone from overhearing, “Astrals, Noctis it’s been **three years** -!”

Another whimper and Cor suddenly become aware of the child again. He shifted his gaze and stared at the toddler. Armiger blue eyes, almost eerie in the intensity of their blue and watery from suppressed tears, tousled violet-red hair that was the wrong color, but was just as downy and flyaway as Noctis’s had been at that age, delicately sharp cheekbones that were so distinctively **Lucis Caelum**.

…Oh.

 **Oh**.

Cor dragged his gaze up to Noctis, who hunched his shoulders and held the toddler more tightly, like he was afraid Cor would try to snatch the little boy away, “He’s mine,” Noctis answered the unspoken question, something dark in his gaze, something challenging. “He’s my son,” Noctis repeated, and Cor suddenly felt the pressure of magic in the roots of his teeth, the tremble in the air that promised death and blood if Cor made any threatening moves. Noctis was on a hair trigger, a near-feral gleam entering his eyes that made them blood red, fully ready to kill his own godfather if he thought it was required to protect the child.

Cor took a slow half-step back, hands away from the sword at his side, head tilted fractionally to expose his throat like one would when submitting to a wild animal —for all Regis insisted Lucis Caelums weren’t dragons, Cor had tested over the years and found that animal body language worked wonders when his king was feeling particularly temperamental—. Sure enough, Noctis’s magical pressure eased to something akin to a low rumble rather than a bearing of fangs.

Cor forced himself to keep his voice calm and his body language submissive, “We should talk somewhere else.”

Noctis glanced nervously at his child and then at the items he’d dropped. Cor scooped the fallen items up without hesitation, “I’ll pay, then we go to the caravan.”

“…Thank you, Cor.”

Cor grunted and pretended he wasn’t forcing back tears as he paid for the items and led Noctis to the caravan, fighting the irrational fear that if he took his eyes off Noctis for even a moment, the prince would be gone again. They ducked into the caravan and Cor locked the door. He refused to flinch when angry, half feral magic shimmered into place a moment later, sealing the caravan interior with a thick shield of pure magic. Noctis was already turning away from Cor to mess with the kitchenette, the silently crying toddler —his **son** — on his hip, “Dyn is hungry and tired, that’s why he’s crying. I need to feed him and put him down for a nap before we do anything.”

“He’s very quiet,” Cor noted as he leaned against the caravan bunk and watched Noctis work, drinking in the appearance of the missing prince even as he didn’t quite dare to approach again. Not yet. Not while the child was still agitated.

“It’s-,” Noctis paused, pressed his nose against his son’s hair and the magic shield around them crackled with suppressed emotion that made Cor’s instincts flinch, “It hasn’t been very … safe to … cry. Not until recently. He knows to keep quiet.”

 _Don’t react,_ Cor reminded himself beneath the roaring sound in his ears, _don’t react. He’s two steps away from going feral as it is. Wait. Listen. Analyze. This is a battlefield and you cannot rush in without intel. Not unless you want to lose him. Again._ “What’s his name?” Cor asked gently instead of demanding to know what had happened and where Noctis had been to have a **son** who was afraid to make too much noise when he cried.

He was trying very hard not to think about another little boy, an infant, who Cor had believed was mute for months until the child figured out it was safe to make any sound at all when he cried.

Noctis didn’t look up from the painstaking job of supervising his son’s consumption of microwaveable mac and cheese, making sure the toddler wasn’t trying to either eat too much at once or play with it rather than eat at all, “Dionysus. His name is Dionysus.”

A blink, “After the myth of the guy who discovered wine?”

“After the myth of rebirth,” Noctis corrected, “Dionysus was said to be the first soul to ever Walk Twice. To overcome all the odds and live a full life after his first was cut short. It seemed…” Noctis paused, shook his head and didn’t finish. Cor could put it together though. What better thing to name the symbol of everything you’d ever known coming to an end but a promise that it would be better? That the trial would be overcome and moved beyond?

Cor let the silence fall as Noctis finished helping his son eat. Stood aside when Noctis gently picked up the toddler and tucked him into the caravan bunk, singing the lullaby of Lucis Caelums until the little red-haired boy fell asleep. Noctis sat on the edge of the bed, gently petting violet-red hair and pointedly not looking at Cor. Cor sat down on the vacated plastic chair and tried to find a way to word his question that **wouldn’t** tip either himself or Noctis over the edge.

It was Noctis who broke the silence first.

“I couldn’t just leave him,” Noctis whispered, a mix of love and broken memory in his eyes that made Cor’s hackles rise, “They were going to-. They-. It wasn’t right. I couldn’t just-. Kill him or leave him behind. I **couldn’t**.” Noctis finally looked at Cor again, eyes blood red and swimming with tears, “He’s my **son** , Cor. My Dionysus. No matter how he … how he came to be, I **love** him. I would die for him.” The last bit was just a whisper, fervent and cracked and it scared Cor more than anything else in his life ever had. Even if he understood the sentiment.

“He’s your son,” Cor agreed carefully, not daring to touch on the “no matter how he came to be” bit, not yet, “of course you love him. Just like Regis loves you.” Noctis flinched and Cor pushed as gently as he dared, “Where have you been the last three years, Noctis? Have you been … captive?”

Noctis grimaced, “Not … exactly. Not the entire time I was … gone.” Noctis looked down at the Dionysus, “He’s two years old. I … left as soon as he was born but … it was a long way home and I had to take care of him. I couldn’t just go running off into the tundra without supplies, or a plan, or … anything really.”

Cor felt puzzle pieces snap brutally into place in his head and tried to tell himself he was jumping to conclusions. Except it didn’t feel like it. Disappearing prince. Tundra. “How he came to be”. Two years old.

Niflheim’s head scientist, Besithia, had been murdered rather brutally two years ago, and his entire laboratory only revealed because blowing it up had crumbled an entire mountainside.

In his mind’s eye, he saw a little blond baby with a barcode on his wrist.

“Besithia.” Noctis flinched at the word, something bitter and violent in his eyes that was all the confirmation he needed before Cor repeated firmly, “Dionysus is your son. Regis will be thrilled to meet him.”

Noctis’s shoulders eased even as he looked shyly over at Cor, hope and wariness mixing in heartbreaking amounts in his gaze, “…You really think so?”

Cor gave in to his urge to stand up and carefully reach over to hug Noctis, burying his face in the stiff teen’s hair as he rasped, “Astrals, Noctis, we’ve been going crazy to find you. Of **course** he’ll be thrilled.” One arm shakily wrapped around Cor’s waist, a childlike neediness in the gesture, a relief in finally being near a trusted adult figure who would help him with the rollercoaster his life had become. Cor rocked Noctis just a little, aware of the child sleeping on the bed and not wanting to wake him, “Let’s get you home. Both of you.”

Noctis’s grip tightened desperately on Cor, and Cor wasn’t surprised when his shirt began to grow wet with tears as his godson murmured, “I … I would like that. I want to go home.”

Cid had known about the missing prince for a while. Of course he had. It had been all over the news when it first got out, and Cid had called up Regis to offer whatever help he could without hesitation. He had pulled on what favors he had among the drifters and truckers and Hunters, hoping one of them would be able to find what secrets alluded the official investigation. But there had been nothing. No sign of Reggie’s boy, no hide or hair or corpse or ransom note for three whole years. Cid refused to give up looking only because this was Reggie’s son, and he owed it to his friend to not stop until Regis did. Besides that, Noctis was a Lucis Caelum. He might have been pampered and kept inside Insomnia’s Wall all his life, but Cid had travelled with Reggie when he was just a young man and he knew just how hard it was for Lucis Caelums to **die**.

Even so, he … hadn’t expected anyone to find the boy. Not after three years. Not unless it was a death certificate or a mangled body brought in by a Hunter. He definitely hadn’t expected Cor to blow into Hammerhead, looking a mix of haggard and overjoyed, his back straighter and expression lighter than it had been since the search began and he became a bimonthly visitor to check for leads. Cid saw Cor stepping out of the car, took in the light expression and unburdened shoulders and … hoped. Hoped that Cor finally had a lead on the boy.

And then the passenger door opened and out stepped … Reggie. Reggie if he was a scrawny teenager that someone had kicked all the dignity out of and replaced that dignity with a skittish, hyper-alert exhaustion.

Noctis. Reggie’s boy.

Six above, Cor had **found him**.

Cid abandoned his project in the garage and began hurrying out, faltered when the teen reached into the car to pull something out…

A child. A toddler with red-violet hair and blue-blue eyes and a clear, happy voice that chirped, “Da! Da, wan’ down!” Oh so clearly to the teenager, who chuckled weakly and obediently set him on the ground.

Relief cooled to anger and suspicion and he tipped his hat lower over his eyes as he approached. He knew, in the back of his mind, that he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. The boy looked like he had been through a lot, but … he’d heard of this kind of thing before. Reckless kids who ran off because they thought they were “in love” and did reckless things and only regretted it later when it was too late to turn back.

Cid saw Cor trying to cut him off from the boy, but that didn’t stop Cid from calling out in a mix of suspicion and the anger that came from fear being suddenly relieved, “Prince Noctis. Like they took yer old man an’ kicked the dignity out of him.”

He was surprised when the prince barked out a dry, fragile laugh and replied with dark humor, “Don’t I know it.”

Then Cor was between him and the kid, a scowl on his face that was surprisingly fierce even for him, like Cid had just stepped near a line he shouldn’t have, “Leave him alone, Cid.”

“Why?” Cid shot back, “Because he thought he’d found his true love and ran off and is now slinking back-.” He caught the fist on instinct, wincing at the impact against his arthritic hand. Cor’s eyes blazed with **fury** , and Cid realized he’d just crossed that line he’d skirted near a moment before.

“It wasn’t a girl,” growled Cor very softly, soft so that it didn’t carry to any unwanted ears, “it was **Niflheim**. They wanted a Lucis Caelum of their own to raise, and they used Noctis to **get** one.”

Anger dissolved into shame and Cid glanced over at the teenager studiously ignoring them in favor of playing a little hand-clap game with his son. Suddenly the skittishness took on even more layers of implication. Cid winced, “Ah-.”

Cor growled at him, “Don’t. Don’t bother. We’re just here to refuel and let the kid stretch his legs, then we’re going to Insomnia. Just go inside and read your paper, Old Man.” It was an insult, biting and plain, and Cid deserved it he knew, for jumping to conclusions like an idiot —he was supposed to be older and wiser than that darnit—.

“Cor?” Reggie’s boy called over cautiously, Cor grunted and jerked his fist out of Cid’s hand, turning to look at the teen who ran nervous finger’s through his toddler’s hair, “It’s okay. I know … I know what this looks like. I’m not hurt.”

“Noctis…”

“Just let it go, okay? He can think whatever he wants.” A flash of bitterness, too old and jaded to fit on such a young face, “Everyone else does.”

Cid stepped around the bristling Cor and approached the teenager who had been through more than Cid wanted to imagine, “Well Ah’m not ‘everyone else’, and it seems Ah owe ya an apology. Ah’m sorry for what Ah said just now, Yer Highness, and welcome to Hammerhead.”

A flicker of hysteria, like something was funny in the twisted way only soldiers and survivors could appreciate, then it was gone and he patted the head of the child hiding behind his leg, “I forgive you. Uh … this is … this is Dionysus.” The child —Dionysus—, ducked and hid a little further, radiating shyness.

Cid forced his bones to crouch so he was closer to eye level —and ignored the warning pressure of magic that made his joints and teeth ache, a predator willing to rip his head off if he made one wrong move toward the child—, “It’s good to meet ya, Prince Dionysus. Ya hungry?”

A wide-eyed glance up at his father, a slow, wary nod from the teen that the toddler then mimicked solemnly to Cid. Cid straightened up with a muted grown, “Alright then. While my granddaughter gives the car a refill and a look over, ya’ll come in for some food.”

Something unwound in the prince’s shoulders and the sight of it made Cor relax too. Cid led them to his house and set them up with snacks and drinks, and while Noctis and Dionysus were busy eating, Cor led Cid to a nearby corner and quietly filled him in. Cid’s heart ached, a mixture of regret and sadness and fierce pride in the boy he’d never met until today. It took a very special kind of steel spine to survive escaping Niflheim all by oneself, let alone with a **baby** in tow. He watched Noctis out of the corner of his eye, and mused to himself that even though the boy still looked like someone had taken Regis and kicked the dignity out, now that he knew to look for it, he could see the core of adamantite courage and determination underneath the scruff.

Good. He was going to need it to survive the next, unique stage of hell waiting for him at the hands of the Insomnian media and nobility.

Well. Once Regis had calmed down enough to let anyone other than himself and his brothers within five hundred feet of his son and new grandson.

That reunion was going to be messy, and Cid was almost — **almost** — glad that he couldn’t leave Hammerhead right now to go witness it. They were severely shorthanded this week and barring a life and death emergency, Cid couldn’t just up and leave Cindy to handle it on her own. But after things went back to normal…

Maybe it was finally time to visit Insomnia again. Bring Regis the good, hard whiskey. Astrals knew the man —and his son— would likely need it.

* * *

Regis was moving through the hallways as quickly as he dared, restrained from running less by propriety and more by his knee, which was having a particularly bad day today. Clarus followed at his side, shoulders straight with the same barely repressed energy, desperation, **relief** that had Regis taking all the shortcuts through the Citadel halls.

Cor had called four days ago with news that he-. He had **found** Noctis. Finally, finally found Regis’s son after three years of desperate searching. Cor had not said anything more than that, had not even **outright** said that —he had used a code word, one that meant he had found the Crown Prince alive, but that gave no detail on **how** Noctis was doing, or where, or how he’d found him—. Cor had then cut off communications, afraid of their return journey being assaulted by Niflheim, and this once Regis did not fault the man’s paranoia.

But that had still meant four days of waiting for them to return. Four days oscillating between joy —his son had been **found** — and frantic panic —what if something happened? What if Noctis was badly injured?—.

Then, two hours ago, Cor had called again, this time from Hammerhead. He had only told Regis where he was and reconfirmed via codeword that Noctis was with him. Cor had wasted no time returning to Insomnia after calling, and now finally, **finally** , Regis was about to see his son again.

Cor was waiting outside the door to Regis’s own suite, looking both younger and more haggard than he had in years, even more than during the entire drama that had gone down with Captain Drautos two years ago. He straightened up as Regis and Clarus approached, stepped forward to block Regis’s path and it was only Regis’s trust and respect for his friend that kept him from physically flinging Cor aside and resuming his walk, “Cor.” Regis ground out tightly, hand white-knuckled on his cane.

“If you go rushing in there as you are now, you’re going to end up stabbed.” Cor explained, blunt as ever, “Noctis is **not** tolerant of surprises and unexpected guests and I don’t blame him, but I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

Regis took a breath that hurt, forced himself to hold still and not think about all the things that implied, “Cor. Report.”

Cor did, short and firm, but … missing something. Clearly skipping over something that he didn’t want to discuss in the hallway, deserted though it was. He spoke of how Noctis had lost weight, how he was wary of people, loud noises, movement. Cor told Regis about how his son had been held captive by **Niflheim** for a year, that the last two years he had been on the run, trying to get back to the Lucian continent. Back **home**.

Clarus was the one to ask why Niflheim had held him captive without bragging about it to Lucis, without holding Noctis ransom, only because Regis wasn’t sure he could form words at the present moment. Cor grimaced, something black and furious in his gaze as he hedged, “You remember the report two years ago about how Niflheim’s head scientist Vestael Besithia was … murdered. Rather brutally and with a lot of stab wounds.”

Two years ago. Stab wounds.

Niflheim’s head scientist.

Noctis had been captive for a **year**.

Regis felt the world film over with blue static and was only dimly aware of Clarus’s hand on his back and Cor’s grip on his forearms to keep him in place. The world was shaking, shivering slightly under the force of the blue —of Regis’s magic, furious and vengeful over the realization that Niflheim had taken his boy, Niflheim had experimented on his **baby boy** and oh he had **seen** already some of the things Besithia did to his victims— and Regis only had enough room left in his head under the roaring fury to remember his breathing exercises. He forced the blue back beneath his skin after several minutes of struggle, and by that point he could feel another magic —his son’s magic his son his son his **son** — prickling defensively on the other side of the door, braced and ready for a fight or flight and the last of Regis’s control snapped.

He shoved past Cor, ignoring the man’s protests this time and pushed open the door to his suite.

Noctis stood in the center of the room, braced as if blocking the way deeper into the suite, wild-eyed and dangerous. His son’s magic growled against his senses, desperate and conflicted, singing of _fear-fear-determination-anger-reluctance-fear_ , pushing a sour, staticky taste onto Regis’s tongue even as he drank in the sight of his child three years missing.

Noctis was taller than he had been. Taller and leaner, any remnants of softness from his lifestyle as a prince scoured away in favor of whipcord muscle underneath his clothes, cheeks that were just a touch too prominent to be healthy. His hair was longer, loose around his shoulders and damp like he had only just washed it, adding to the wildness in his eyes and the stories told by the scars that disappeared beneath his shirt sleeves, in the hands curled as if around sword hilts he had yet to actually pull free of armiger. There was no gentle prince in front of him, but a survivor, a fighter, and even as Regis rejoiced his son’s return, he mourned because he already knew … not all of Noctis had come back.

No one ever completely came back from **war**.

Regis took a deep breath, resting his other hand on the handle of his cane to support his shaking knees as he carefully unfurled his own magic and reached out to caress his son’s in _love-reassurance-love-apology-joy_ , “Noctis…” he closed his mouth again, unsure what to say first amid the rush that wanted to come from his lips. Three years worth of things unsaid —more than that, so many things Regis had never thought he had had **time** to stop and say until he was hit with the sharp realization that he might not ever get the time again and that it might be too late, that he should have **made** more time—. What could he possible say first? To express how much he had worried, how **sorry** he was that he had failed his son, how deeply he was relieved that Noctis was **home** again and how much he loved the boy-turned-survivor in front of him?

His magic pressed a little harder against the hackles of his son’s and Noctis blinked furiously to hold back tears, “Dad … there’s … there’s some … things … that happened.”

Regis could feel Clarus at his side even as Cor subtly shifted to stand at Noctis’s in silent support and tried not to think about Niflheim and laboratories lest he lose his control again, “It’s alright, Noctis. Whatever it is, you’re home now, and we’ll get through it together.”

Noctis winced, hands flexing on invisible sword hilts before he rasped, “This isn’t … exactly the kind of thing you can ‘get through’…”

Regis took a step forward, internally keened as his son took a step back defensively, still ready for the worst even from his own **father** -.

Somehow, even with all the tension of the moment, with all the hyper-awareness that stress was granting his senses, he still missed the bathroom door cracking open a little more behind his son and the little shadow that crept out. Until it latched onto Noctis’s leg with too-thin little hands and the flickering blossom of new _cautious-scared-confused_ magic came with a soft whisper of, “Da?” and suddenly the little shadow was **all** Regis could look at.

One of Noctis’s hands came to rest possessively on the child’s hair, subtly, subconsciously nudging the child farther behind his leg, magic taking on a feral edge of _protect-protect-mine-_ ** _mine-don’t-touch-don’t-you-dare_** even as Noctis’s voice softened, “It’s okay, Dyn, this is … this is your grandpa. Can you say ‘hi’ to your grandpa?”

Armiger blue eyes in a tiny face peered up at the frozen Regis and the soft, obedient “hi” was almost entirely lost in the fabric of the pant leg the boy was smooshing his face into out of nerves. Regis drank in the similarities to his son, the **differences** from his son, the age of the child —roughly two, if he didn’t miss his mark—, the sheer defensiveness of Noctis, like he expected Regis to **attack** the child…

In his mind’s eye, he couldn’t help but see a little blond infant Cor had dragged home with him after a particularly bad mission to Niflheim, the one with the barcode on his wrist who came with horror stories of tanks upon tanks of infected children. He could hear Cor’s voice in his head, talking about how Noctis had been captive for a **year** , how Besithia had been murdered and the implicit tone in Cor’s voice that meant the two events had been connected.

Counting travel time by airship and maybe some wiggle room for finicky science, a year in captivity would be exactly enough time to “harvest” genetic material from an unwilling subject and **create** a child. Possibly more, if the process was delicate and had a high attrition rate. And **oh** , the things Niflheim could do with its own batch of infantile **Lucis Caelums** -.

Regis felt the whisper of armiger rising, the tiny crystalline fragments beginning to coalesce in the air under the force of his son’s fear and Regis forced all those thoughts away for a later time —a time when he could **rage** without a skittish, traumatized son and tiny, tiny child there to frighten, a time when he could **cry** with only Clarus and Cor to see—. Tossing his cane into armiger and ignoring the screaming of his old injury, Regis sank to his knees so that he was closer to eye level with the child and smiled, “Hello little one,” he murmured with all the _calm-affection-greeting-gentleness_ he could convincingly layer into his magic, “my name is Regis, and you are … my new grandson. ”

The little boy who had his son’s blue eyes and a stranger’s hair poked out from behind the pant leg he was huddled against just a bit, caution and curiosity in every line. Regis let his magic nudge the child’s lightly, a greeting and loving welcome all in one, because no matter how the child had come to pass, this was his **grandson** , and he was welcome —it wasn’t the child’s fault he existed, it wasn’t the boy’s fault for **how** he came to be, what else could Regis do but love him?—. The boy glanced up at Noctis —at his **father** — in silent question and the feral, desperate edge to Noctis’s magic finally faded as he slowly slid to match Regis’s position on his knees, “You aren’t…” Noctis’s voice hitched, cracked beneath the weight of things Regis could not know and had not seen, “You aren’t angry?”

Regis wanted to say that he was furious, that he was ready to climb in the Regalia and go out on a Niflheim destroying road trip like he was twenty and stupid again. His son had been missing for three years, had been tortured for at least one, been on the **run** without any backup or help for two more, and now showed up with a two year old child he clearly loved but had nonetheless not chosen to have. A child that **also** no doubt had all kinds of hidden trauma. Regis had spent all of Noctis’s life trying to protect him and give him a happy childhood and he had **failed** and it made Regis so furious he could bring the entire Citadel down on his own head if he wasn’t careful.

Instead, he reached out a gentle hand to cup his son’s cheek and internally wept in relief when Noctis leaned into his touch rather than flinching from it, “My son has come home and he has brought with him a beautiful little grandson.” Regis murmured instead, “Any reasons I might have for anger would **never** be directed at you, or him, or anyone else in this room.”

Noctis’s breath hitched again, and the little one made a noise of quiet distress when Noctis began to cry, “Da? Da, no. No crying, Da. Da?”

One hand reached up to clasp Regis’s wrist in a desperate, needy grip, but the other wrapped tight around the little red-haired child and pulled him into a hug, “I’m okay, Dyn. I’m okay. These are happy tears. Happy tears.” Noctis buried his face in his son’s hair and didn’t flinch when Regis slowly —painfully— shifted to sit by Noctis’s other side and wrap an arm around his boy. Noctis leaned into him and Regis buried his face in Noctis’s hair just like his son was doing to the little one. Above them, Clarus and Cor both relaxed, their faces creasing briefly to show their grief and relief before they settled down a respectful but supportive distance away.

Regis held his son as he cried, felt himself start to cry himself at the twisting, too-powerful —so much more powerful than three years ago oh **Noctis** — magic and the feelings it conveyed, He startled when a tiny hand wrapped around his fingers, lifted his face from Noctis’s hair and found himself staring into soft blue eyes that were somehow both too wise and too innocent for a two year old, “No sad,” the little boy said firmly from his spot in Noctis’s grasp. Then he frowned, the too wise glint winning out in little blue eyes before he squeezed Regis’s fingers and clumsily hummed out the first bars of the ancient Lucis Caelum lullaby.

Regis beamed past his tears, “Thank you…” he hesitated as he realized he didn’t even know the name of his grandson yet.

A glance up at Cor, Cor’s lips twitched upward for just a moment before he murmured, “Dionysus.”

Regis glanced down at the child- at Dionysus again, “After the legend of rebirth.” In his arms, Noctis managed a raspy laugh and nod, and Regis carefully adjusted his hand so that he could gently grip the hand wrapped tight around his fingers, “It’s wonderful to meet you, Dionysus.” He murmured. “Welcome home.” He pressed his lips against Noctis’s hair and whispered hoarsely, “Both of you. Welcome home.”

* * *

_“Well, well, well, you certainly left a trail of destruction didn’t you? That laboratory will never be the same. And you have come such a_ **_long_ ** _way to do it, haven’t you? And all by_ **_yourself_ ** _!”_

_“Hello, Ardyn.”_

_“And he knows my name! I’m flattered! It isn’t everyday one is recognized by the beloved Crown Prince of Lucis! The_ **_missing_ ** _prince, thought kidnapped by cruel Niflheim. But you weren’t kidnapped at all were you? You left under your own power and came all the way here, destroyed the secret lab and everyone inside, and now you are_ **_here_ ** _, standing before me. All of this … for what purpose, I wonder?”_

_A breath that shook, a glance up at the full moon just rising above the horizon, “It’s the night of the first anniversary.”_

_“Hmm?” A tilt of a hatted head, the glitter of curious yellow eyes, “Anniversary, my dear prince? What kind?”_

_Instead of an answer, a question, quiet and sad, “Do you miss sunlight, King of Light? Do you miss feeling it on your skin without burning? Being able to stand beneath it with bared skin and not feel sick?”_

_Deadly silence, curiosity churning into poison, “What … did you just call me?”_

_“King of Light. Chosen King. Take your pick of titles. They were yours first, after all.”_

_“You know who I am.”_

_“Yeah. Ardyn Lucis Caelum, elder brother of Somnus, lover of Aera, named the Sage by the Astrals and the Healer by his people, then later cast down by his brother and named Adagium, the Accursed. You were meant to save the world, but it betrayed you, and now you seek to throw it into darkness.”_

_A laugh that was false, a smile that was venom, “Well,_ **_someone_ ** _has done his research. So that is why you are here then, hmm? The new Chosen King here to fulfill his destiny early and slay the foul Accursed? You certainly have the sword for it.”_

_“Actually, I came here to fulfill a promise.”_

_A red blade glittered into existence, ready for blood and battle, “And what promise is_ **_that_ ** _, Dear Prince?”_

_A step closer, the crackle of a battle about to unfold, “To bring you out of shadow and into the light. To give you peace, to give you a second chance. No more will you be the Accursed, or the Chosen King who was denied.”_

_Blades flashed, cracked against each other in sparks and magic-forged steel, “And what will I be then,_ **_Chosen King_ ** _?”_

_“Yourself. Just yourself. Whoever that may be.”_

_A laugh, hysterical and crazed and disbelieving._

_A battle that waged for hours, tearing up landscape and spattering blood both black and red on the ground, churning the air with magic, fire spells that turned freezing snow to slush. Then, as the moon hung low on the horizon-, the final strike through the heart. Black blood running thick on a silver blade, a surge of light so bright it shone like the sun, fueled by magic gained in a time unwound, of generations of kings and the touch of five Astrals. So bright it blinded the wielder and forced him to shut his eyes against it._

_When the light faded and sight returned, there was no Accursed and no Chosen King, there was no immortal and no time-traveller._

_There was just a shaking teenager with a soul too old for his body…_

_And a crying, shivering baby curled up in a pile of old clothes, head pillowed on a battered old hat._

_“A-are you serious?” Breathed the teen to the unhearing sky as he staggered over and scooped the child up in his arms with skill born of memories not his own, “Are you-. You really-.” The child squinted, blue eyes filmed over with tears as he wailed his cold discomfort to the sky. Helpless. Tiny._ **_New_ ** _. So very, very new. Not an Immortal, not an Accursed, not even a time-traveller in a too-young body. The magic tangling with his own was infantile and blank, innocent and only preoccupied with hunger and cold and the need for comfort._

_A second chance._

_A rebirth._

_A baby. Lost and alone and scared, in need of a guardian, and a story to hide the origins magic had erased._

_A baby who needed … a father._

_A breathless tirade of curses toward the Astrals and their strange sensibilities, a furtive look around as he took clean clothes out of his armiger to wrap up the baby. A stream of words that dissolved to quiet sobbing, because it was_ **_over_ ** _and yet it had only begun. Because he was far from any home or allies and there was an infant —a clean, fresh slate for a soul that needed it most—, and he was the only one who could care for it. Who had, technically,_ **_created_ ** _it and for that and for safety he was a_ **_father_ ** _in the middle of the wilderness with no supplies befitting a child and no idea where the nearest town was to get any._

_The child’s cries grew louder, distressed over the tears of the one holding him, and the king turned prince turned father took deep breaths to calm himself and focus. Took another to clear his head and rock the child as he stood up and started walking, “We’re okay. We’re okay. We’ll figure this out. I’m … I’m going to take care of you.” A flicker of something, deep and feral and protective, because he had walked through death and time and endless night for this. He wasn’t stopping now._

_Noctis looked down at the child, physically no more than a week or two old when in reality he was mere_ **_minutes_ ** _old. The child that had once been his worst enemy and fated end._

_The child that was, for all intents and purposes both real and imagined, his_ **_son_ ** _. Royal children were of the blood, after all, and in this instance, he thought that blood shed on the throne of an unwritten future definitely counted._

_“We’ll be okay,” he repeated, “I’m here … I’m here. You’ll never be alone again. I’m going to get you home. Shh, it will be okay, Ar-.” A pause, a breath that choked. A look over his shoulder at clothes covered in black blood, the hilt of the silver, moon bright blade that had disintegrated as soon as its work was done. Ardyn was gone. This child didn’t deserve to carry a name with so much history. The soul that was Ardyn had been reborn, and in a visceral sense, so had all of the timeline —there would be no eternal night, no Accursed, no scars roped over Ignis’s eyes or a knife in Luna’s ribs—. It had all been reborn._

_Reborn._

_Rebirth._

_A noise that was more a sob than a laugh, “Dionysus.” He looked back down and bounced the baby in his arms just a little, “You’re Dionysus, and everything will be okay. Would you … would you like a song? Hm? Would that help? At least until I find- milk or something?”_

_A hiccuping coo in the midst of the tears, a flail of tiny hands until he tucked them away in the warmth of the jacket he had wrapped around the baby with wispy red-violet hair, “There’s a lullaby just for you, you know. Written for you. Even if you won’t ever know that.” He licked dry lips, clinging tight to the second chance that the Astrals had given, the one he_ **_really_ ** _could have used some heads up for._

_Deep in the wilderness of Niflheim, in the center of a sprawling aura of magic no daemon dared come near, the chilly air echoed with a lonely, broken lullaby written by a regretful brother for the sibling who would never hear it while he still wore the name of “Ardyn”._

_“May all your dreams be,”_

_“Sweet, tonight,”_

_“Safe upon your bed of moonlight.”_

_“And know not of sadness, pain, or care,”_

_“And when I dream,”_

_“I’ll fly away and meet you there,”_

_“Sleep…”_

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, the link to the song if anyone wants it. I actually have a little page on my doc that is just this song but rewritten to fit FFXV. I feel no remorse.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_ZrtQl6yWg

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Blood of My Blood (That Was Shed On the Throne)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26077132) by [Shadow_Dragon_jem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Dragon_jem/pseuds/Shadow_Dragon_jem)




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